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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27809218">how slow the moments go</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisfp/pseuds/thisfp'>thisfp</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, M/M, POV Patrick Brewer, takes place immediately after meet the parents</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:54:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,737</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27809218</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisfp/pseuds/thisfp</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time they get back to Patrick's apartment after his surprise party Patrick's ready to pass out with his wonderful boyfriend, but his plans never quite stay on track.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clint Brewer/Marcy Brewer, Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>269</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>how slow the moments go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Shoes squeaking as he climbs the old linoleum stairs towards his apartment and David’s hand steady on the small of his back, Patrick is pretty sure this is the closest he’ll ever get to walking on clouds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s exhausted, utterly drained from the release of two years worth of hiding, of doubting, the exhilaration at getting to see something as mundane as his dad asking David if there was Old Bay in the crab cakes. He feels lighter than he has in years even as he struggles to get up the last few steps. He could curl up here with David, right next to the small scrape on the wall from when he and David had tried to get the couch into the apartment, and he’d be happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he can’t do that. There are lots of reasons, really, but especially because they’re meeting his parents for breakfast tomorrow. He’s going to drag David out of bed just shy of too early and they’ll show his parents the store and explain where all of the products David had stolen for them come from. He’ll get to have three of his favourite people in one of his favourite places, even if one of them will require copious amounts of caffeine, sugar, and kisses. It won’t exactly be a hardship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wonders if his parents will ask them to visit home soon. He wants them to ask. Whenever he does go back he’ll have to face his relatives, his history, but the idea already feels more manageable than it would have yesterday. It won’t be him going into an uncertain situation, it will be him bringing his boyfriend home. His fiancé, if all goes to plan. They certainly won’t have a chance to visit before he proposes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The heavy slide of David’s key turning the deadbolt pulls Patrick back to reality. He steps forward and plasters himself to David’s back, pressing his face against David’s nape, inhaling the cologne that long ago became home. “Hi,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, hello,” David pats his arm. “I can’t open the door like this, honey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S’okay,” He nuzzles against David. “I’m good here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, I don’t think your back would agree with you there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you calling me old?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David pushes them back and hooks the bag of leftovers on Patrick’s fingers. “It did take a while to get all those candles on the cake earlier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Says the man that is three whole years older -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“- Oh my god! Nobody asked.” David detangles himself from Patrick but takes his hand and tugs him through the apartment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” He pulls David closer before David can drop his hand. “I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David shakes his head, tucking a soft grin into the corner of his mouth as he thumbs at Patrick’s hand. “I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment he imagines taking David to bed, taking him apart and showing him how grateful he is, but he’d rather end the night on a higher note than falling asleep on David’s dick. Instead, he kisses David slowly. “Want to get ready for bed? I can take care of the leftovers.” He pats David’s hip. “You’ve got crab cake breath.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay! Somebody had to eat them.” David tilts his head back, showing off the long lines of his neck. “Why didn’t you eat any? You </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> crab cakes. I ordered crab cakes specifically because you like crab cakes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and now we’ve got all these bad boys for ourselves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mkay, you’re not helpful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watches David pad away before he turns toward the fridge. They’d sent people home with food and it’s still a struggle to fit the leftover boxes in the fridge. It’s not surprising, given the party planner, but it still settles somewhere deep in his chest. “Do you think Sam would go out of business if it weren’t for us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David huffs. “Would you have preferred Café Tropical’s finest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I do have a bit of a soft spot for their mozzarella sticks."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, but is that what we’d want for our guests?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leftovers tucked away in a somewhat precarious stack in the fridge, he turns and watches David peel his jeans off. “It’s kept you around this long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I don’t think we want them to drop to my standards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think anyone there would eat something someone else had thrown out so I think we’re safe there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David pauses with his sleep pants halfway up his naked legs to glance at Patrick with the mix of glare and deer in the headlights that only David can pull off. “Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> mention that while your parents are in town.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“David, my parents already adore you. Nothing’s going to change that - even if you do, occasionally, eat something off the floor.” He starts on his shirt buttons, gratified when David’s gaze follows his hands. “Just wait until my mom gets the chance to feed you some of her lasagna.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your mom makes lasagna? From scratch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods. “It’s an old family recipe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And has it been passed down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no.” He shakes his head resolutely, as if he wouldn’t make it tonight if David asked. “No, nobody dared take on my mama’s lasagna.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David hums. “I guess I’ll just have to ask her about it, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess you will.” He kicks his jeans into the hamper, throwing his shirt in after. It’s like the last puzzle piece has slidden into its place - he can see his mom cooking too much for a visit, his dad breaking out the old photo albums and showing David Patrick’s grandparents and the time he lost his second baby tooth after he ran into a door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooo, did somebody get themselves a little birthday present?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up as he pulls a sock off and his life flashes before his eyes in the time it takes him to realize David is standing there with a velvety black box in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you finally get a new watch? I’ve been telling you for </span>
  <em>
    <span>ages</span>
  </em>
  <span> -” The box opens with a soft snap, revealing the four golden rings nestled inside. David gasps. “What - Patrick - what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a plan. He’d been planning it for ages, knew that David deserved a grand gesture, something big to kick off this new chapter of their relationship. He was going to take David to the overlook, to the spot he’d decided to let himself be brave and fall. Maybe he can be brave here, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lowers himself onto one knee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god.” David laughs, blinking back tears as he glances between Patrick and the rings. “Oh my god, Patrick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh. This wasn’t my plan, but I think if our first date was on your birthday then this kind of fits, huh?” He takes a deep breath and focuses on the way his chest expands around the air, around this moment. “When I moved here I thought it was going to be temporary. Even when Ray took me in, I couldn’t imagine finding a place for myself here. Then I met this guy with a really great business idea who told me how cocky I was when we first met.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, David. You’re my home. I want to spend the rest of my life dancing with you, and running the store with you, and waking up to you hogging the blanket.” He takes a shaky breath, pressing his fingers into his thigh. “David, will you marry me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David laughs, a joyful melody that warms Patrick to the core as he watches David run his fingers over the rings. “Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods. “Easiest decision of my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David drops onto his knees and wraps himself around Patrick, knocking them both to the ground, pulling Patrick half on top of him. He hugs David, kisses him as hard as he can manage with no hope of controlling his smile. He nuzzles David’s jaw, his ear, every spot on the path that leads him to his favourite spot on David’s neck. His fiancé’s hands are firm on his back, his fiancé’s breath puffing against his hair. They’re getting married.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re getting married.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hums.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you just propose to me in your underwear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sits up, straddling David’s hips. David stares at him with the kind of reverence that he’s carried for the last two years. “Should I take it back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David shakes his head, squeezing his thighs. “Never.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rubs David’s chest. “Hey, what were you doing in that drawer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David bites his lip. “I wanted to see if those blue sleep pants were clean. You know they’re my favourite, that was an absurd hiding place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as he can feel the pull to take that bait, he sits back and pulls David up, picking up the ring box from the floor. One by one, David removes his silver rings, grunting as he stretches to place them on the edge of the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes David’s hand. The rings slide into place perfectly - as grumpy as David can be in the morning, Patrick will always be grateful for his fiancé’s tendency to sleep in, if only for how easy he made it to size these - as Patrick places one on his pointer finger, one on his middle finger, and two on his ring finger. The gold gleams as David wiggles his fingers, shining bright as Patrick turns David’s hand in his own and presses a kiss to David’s palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re getting married.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods, rubbing David’s shoulders. “That’s usually what getting engaged means, yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David clears his throat. “And since we’re getting married, I think it’s important that we be open and honest with each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re finally willing to admit that you watched that episode of The Great British Bake Off without me when I was sick?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay!” David looks up at the ceiling, clearly guilty even if he still isn’t willing to admit it. He can’t wait to be married to this wonderful, stubborn man. “No. No, this is not about that. What I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to say is that I think it’s important for you to acknowledge that our first date was not on my birthday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“David, we kissed. It was a first date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, but plenty of people kiss without dating.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a date. Even Stevie knew it was a date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many times do I have to tell you that Stevie is not a good barometer for anything that doesn’t involve booze?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cups David’s cheeks and holds him just out of kissing range. “We split dessert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David shrugs. “I’m a very generous person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” He nods. “And it was a first date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You may consider it a first date-eve since we went on an actual first date the next day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” He lets his hands slide down to David’s chest and bites his lip to keep from smiling. From David’s smile he’s pretty sure he’s unsuccessful. He can live with that. “I’m not too worried, seeing as you just agreed to marry me. I’ll convince you yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David squints. “Did you ask, though?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I absolutely did ask, yes. It happened immediately after you went and saw a jewelry box in my pj drawer and decided to check it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, it’s not like it looked like a ring box! Ugh,” He shakes his head even as he can’t manage to bite down his smile. “And who even uses their pj drawer to hide engagement rings? I told you that’s a terrible hiding spot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what took you so long?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David freezes. “How long have you had these?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs. “Long enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David kisses him. “How were you going to do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was going to wait for you to find the rings in my pj drawer then propose in my underwear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David smacks his hip. “I don’t think lying is the best way to start a marriage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a few ideas,” One day maybe he’ll tell David about when he decided, about how he looked over at David talking to a customer about the new bath bombs they’d just got in and knew this was it for him. About how he spent a day off working through his accounts to begin saving for a wedding, a house, all of it. About the hours he’d spent planning a moment that David just ensured would never happen. “But I was thinking about a picnic. There’s this park I used to go to a lot, back when I first moved here and I couldn’t get this guy off my mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David pulls back, gripping his waist. “Oh, there was a guy? How’d that work out for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty good,” He nods. “We’re getting married.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” David nods. “Congratulations. When’s the wedding?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, we’re eloping.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um,” David’s mouth twists into an utterly kissable grimace. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” He nods. He presses a kiss to the crown of David’s hair and pushes himself up off the floor. “We decided we just wanted it to be us and a couple witnesses at town hall. No fuss, no muss.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David stays on the floor, blinking at Patrick’s hands when he holds them out. “You don’t want a ceremony?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, there’ll be a ceremony. It’ll just be low-key.” He takes David’s hands and tries to help him up. “Isn’t it romantic? We just want to be married to each other so badly that we don’t want any of that to get in the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, mhm,” David purses his lips, remaining motionless when Patrick leans up and kisses the edge of his mouth. “So you think it’ll be romantic to be married by Ronnie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks. “Well, Ronnie’s not the only option.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” David nods. “So you think your wedding ceremony should be handled by someone a bit more charismatic, like Roland or Bob.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opens his mouth -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because it certainly won’t be my mother marrying us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grins. “There’s always the Elmdale town hall. We could make a day of it, stop in and get some dinner at Perkins after.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about Paris?” David wiggles, rubbing his shoulders. “We could catch the next flight, get married at Parc de Bagatelle, feed each other dacquoise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or we could get married here and keep our store open.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David rolls his eyes and sits on the bed, holding up Patrick’s long-forgotten sleep shirt. “Yes, fine, but I’m going to insist we get married somewhere a little more upscale than town hall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tilts his head. “You drive a hard bargain, but I think I can agree to those terms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know an excellent businessman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmhm,” He grabs the sleep pants that started it all, changing into them quickly so he can collapse on the bed next to David. “Your dad does have quite the business acumen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ew!” David kicks at Patrick’s calf. “Gross.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I’d marry you however you want, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David leans back and turns on his side, mirroring Patrick, and gives him the soft, unreserved smile that Patrick wants to put on his face every day for the rest of their lives. “I do. Me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kisses David, the man who threw him a surprise party after calling him tacky the one time he’d mentioned it months ago, the man who brought his parents here across seven hundred kilometres and two years of avoiding anything and everything important. “Hey, can we tell my parents tomorrow? We can - you can decide when we tell everyone else, but I want them to know. I want to tell them in person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David’s lip curls just enough for a hint of a dimple. “I think we can do that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Patrick’s proposal plans had extended to the morning after - the day before Cabaret was hardly ideal, but it was the one time the store would be closed two days in a row before the holidays. He’d get to spend the day with David and they wouldn’t have to spend their first morning as an engaged couple rushing to open the store. He’d pictured a lazy morning in bed, trading kisses, cooking up some pancakes because they have time to sleep off the carbs before the show. He certainly hadn’t planned for having to wake David up earlier than usual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it is, it’s just after 6:30, they’ve got an hour before they need to leave, and David is sprawled out on his back, still wrapped in the duvet from when Patrick got up. There’s a spot of drool shining at the edge of his mouth, his hair flat over the side of his forehead in a way that vaguely reminds Patrick of watching him sing carols to the town in the dead of July. This is his future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slides his hand under the arm of David’s t-shirt, rubbing at the sleep-warm skin until he feels David shift under him. “David, it’s time to get up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David groans, rolling away and pulling the blanket up over his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mariah Carey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David pushes up on his elbow and flips the blanket down. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Time to get up, baby.” He kisses David’s cheek and sits back. “We’ve got to get ready for breakfast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s cruel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promise I’ll use it judiciously when we’re married.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David ducks his head, smiling even as he struggles to keep his eyes open. He fists a hand in Patrick’s t-shirt and glances to the side. “What the fuck? It’s not even seven!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to make sure you had enough time to get ready.” He taps David’s knee. “I’ve got a mocha on the counter, but you’ll have to get up to get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David bites his lip. “Did you add whipped cream?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I added whipped cream. Only the best for my fiancé.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you won’t bring your fiancé coffee?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no. I want to make sure he’s awake enough to have breakfast with his future in-laws.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god.” David clutches his shirt. “Oh my god, Patrick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“David -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“- I met them </span>
  <em>
    <span>yesterday </span>
  </em>
  <span>-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And they saw how you take care of me. How much I love you. They adore you already, David.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David nods, almost managing to repress his grimace. “Did we have to do this in the middle of the night, though?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry to tell you this, but you’re marrying into a family of morning people.” He kisses David’s cheek and pushes himself out of bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s disgusting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coffee’s getting cold, baby.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For all that David is obviously, loudly, utterly not a morning person, he gets ready with relative ease. The drive to the store, short as it is, is apparently just long enough for the seed of doubt to sow in his gut. It’s not that he thinks his parents won’t be thrilled - he knows after yesterday that they will be, that they won’t think differently of him for who he loves. It’s that it took two years to get to this point - two years of tense phone calls, of finding excuses to not come home. He can’t make up for that in one day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David turns to face him as soon as he’s pulled into the usual spot. “You know, I don’t think you’re supposed to be driving when you’re in your head like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“David -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know what they said, when I went to see them yesterday?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs and tugs at the seatbelt, tightening it across his lap. “I don’t know, that they had a pleasant drive in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They asked if they’d done something to make you not want to tell them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David pauses. “I, um - I didn’t mean it like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stares at the dust lining the dashboard. “Then what </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>you mean it like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They found out that you’re gay and all they cared about was how you were doing.” David’s hands cover his, stilling them. “They love you so much, honey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns his hand so he can take David’s. “They’re really good people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David nods. “I’m pretty excited to get to know them better. Even if they are morning people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs and pulls David in for a kiss, wishing there were words that expressed how much he loves this wonderful, half-asleep man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David squeezes his knee, gold rings shining. “Now come on, I didn’t get up this early for nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He runs across the street to pick up their breakfast as David heads into the store. They’ve still got about fifteen minutes before his parents arrive but, to his utter lack of surprise, he spots them as he’s crossing the street back to the store. He waits for them, tightening his grip on the containers. “Hey, good morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning, kiddo.” His dad pats his back as his mom pulls him down and kisses his cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you guys sleep?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you know how the old back is.” His mom tries to take one of the bags from him. “But we’re so excited to see your store, sweetheart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dad nods and runs a hand over the wall. “It looks great from out here - this brick is really something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Dad.” He nods towards the door. “Um, it should be open.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He follows his parents in and holds his breath as he watches them. He’s sent them plenty of pictures but it’s not anything like having them here in person, in this sacred place that he’s built with David. The aesthetic may be all David but they’ve kept this place running for the last two years together, have kept it well-stocked with the best Northern Ontario has to offer and forged strong relationships with their vendors and the town. The Apothecary isn’t about to explode and provide them with the kind of opulence that David had once been accustomed to, but - as much as David would hate to hear it put this way - he’s never been more proud of being a part of a team, professionally speaking. And personally speaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is the place where he fell in love, over the same soy candles his mom is now smelling. It feels a bit like the first time his parents visited him in university, amplified by fifteen years and a few key deeply personal epiphanies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushes himself forward and steps through the storefront, heading to the workshop room to drop off the food. David greets him by unceremoniously taking the cup tray from him, correctly guessing that the largest cup would be his coffee. “How’s it going out there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, good.” He places the bags on the nearest table. “Be better if everyone was out there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wanted to give you a moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wraps a hand around David’s bicep, pressing just hard enough to feel the muscle hidden under the ridiculously soft cashmere of his sweater. “I’d rather have a moment with all of my people in the same room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David hides his smile with a big sip. “I suppose I can make an appearance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, it’ll be just like your spot on </span>
  <em>
    <span>A Little Bit Alexis</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god,” David stops abruptly and Patrick just manages to keep from knocking into him. “I never should have told you about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But then I never would have seen you pluck your eyebrows.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, that was a very dark time in my life.” David leads him into the storefront and slips out of his grip to join Patrick’s parents at the display of Ryan’s soaps. “That’s all made with goat’s milk so it doesn’t dry your skin out the way most soaps do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is so lovely, I could use some of this after a day in the clinic.” His mom picks up a citrus bar and holds it up for his dad to smell. “Laura - an old friend of ours, she lives down the road - she used to make some, but it was never this fancy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This one’s patchouli ginger, it’s Patrick’s favourite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” His mom closes her eyes as she holds it up to her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t we use to have patchouli ginger candles, Marce?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We did,” She smiles, a relaxed, warm smile that used to calm Patrick down when he skinned an elbow at baseball practice. “My mom always had one around the house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He steps back into the storefront and puts a hand on David’s back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really have something here.” His dad holds the soap up. “This is a wonderful business you two have built.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Dad.” He glances at David, splaying his hand wide so he doesn’t stretch David’s sweater. “We, uh, we actually have some news.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” His parents glance at each other. “About the store?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, no, we - it just happened last night so we haven’t told anyone yet, but -” His nerves settle as David’s gaze meets his and he sees the same excitement that’s been thrumming under his skin since yesterday. “We’re engaged. We’re getting married.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mom gasps. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David holds his hand up, showing off the four bands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh - um,” His dad frowns down at David’s hand. “Didn’t you have those yesterday?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spark of anxiety that flared at his dad’s hesitation disappears. David stiffens under his hand and he wishes he could see the way David’s smile must fall flat without being too obvious. “No, no he - he’s got a silver set, which he was wearing last night. He’s worn those every day that I’ve known him, so I thought - I wanted to pick something that I knew would meet his very particular tastes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mom laughs and leaps forward, wrapping them up in a tight hug. Patrick glances at his dad, freezing at his expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not like his dad wasn’t an expressive person. He used to get caught up in the story whenever he read to Patrick, putting on voices and acting scenes out until Patrick was more awake than he had been when he crawled into bed. But Patrick could probably count the number of times he’s seen his dad cry on one hand - the day Grampie died, that time they were visiting Grammie’s sister for her birthday and instead of blowing out her candles she blew out her dentures. When he’d told his parents he’d proposed to Rachel, they seemed genuinely happy, but - it wasn’t anything like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dad claps David on the shoulder, glancing between them. “Welcome to the family, David.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” David blinks, speaking softly. “Thank you, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, call me Clint. My dad is Sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Clint.” His mom pulls back and glances back as if that isn’t the thousandth time his dad has made a variation of that joke. She wipes at her eyes and pats his arm. “How did you propose, sweetheart?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s a great story. David?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David clears his throat and spares a moment to glare at him. “Um, well. After last night your son was very tired and I wanted to make sure he didn’t fall asleep in his jeans so I grabbed a pair of his pyjama pants for him. I saw a box - one about the size for a watch, not a ring box - and, like any sane person, assumed that Patrick had finally bought himself a nicer watch like I’d been telling him to for ages. I opened it, expecting to see a watch - again, because it looked like a watch box - and when I saw the rings I looked over and Patrick was down on one knee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had been planning on taking David on a picnic,” He rubs David’s hip. “But this is the story we’ll get to tell for the rest of our lives.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” David points at him. “It is not my fault that you don’t know how to hide jewelry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s sweet, dear.” His mom steps back and pats his dad. “When Clint here was getting ready to propose he tried practicing while he thought I was having a nap and I heard him ask me to marry him, just like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Marce, I don’t think we need to get into that here. The food’s probably getting cold.” His dad puts his hands on his mom’s shoulders and steers her towards the back. “You put the food back here, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watches David lead his parents into the workshop room and imagines standing here in their store, bickering about how exactly the proposal happened thirty-something years from now. All of the birthdays, the tax seasons, the family get-togethers and open mics and nights falling asleep against David while they watch yet another classic romcom. He can’t wait.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've had this in my head for a while and I'm not super happy with how it turned out but this semester has been six simultaneous gong shows so I'm getting it out there because I can. thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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